The Emperor's New Party
by My Spinach Puffs
Summary: Rubbish title-I know-but please R&R and I'll return the favour.  After the complete failure of his first 18th birthday, Kuzco tries to make things a little more successful this time, but will things go smoothly with deadly assassins & TSG writer's block?


**Chapter one: Thrown out the window – again**

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**You'd think that attempted assassinations are a one time thing, and you'd be wrong. You'd think that getting turned into a llama is bad enough, that the nasty world would have taunted me enough already, but you'd be wrong again. I think that by now we've pretty much established how stupid you guys really are. Anyway, here's how the whole second fiasco began, just when I was trying to repair the first one. Yup. That is how cruel the world is.**

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It was a fabulous day. The sky was a calm blue, the clouds were small and pretty, and even then air reeked of spring. It wasn't even too humid and Pacha believed that this was a miracle in itself. Peru certainly was pretty at this time of year and it was almost a joy for the large peasant to make his way by foot to the Emperor's palace – again.

Kuzco had summoned him a few days before, ordering Pacha to visit right away as it was a matter of life and death. Pacha seriously doubted this, as Kuzco's priorities tended to be in the completely wrong order, but he didn't mind, and decided that he would like to visit his friend anyway, especially on a week where the weather was so fine.

Pacha sighed, trying to take in as much of the delicious air as he could, and looked at his llama Misty.

"Still," he said, "I guess we'll find out what he wants soon enough."

This was true. The golden palace was growing bigger with every step they took. Now Pacha could even see a pair of grim-looking purple men who dwarfed the door that they guarded. He could practically hear them talking about the last savagely heroic deed they had performed to save the emperor.

**_Him_****? Why does this start with _him_? He's not important? I'm important! Can I just say that a very important part of the story has been missed out? Yeah, the bit when I spotted that crazy old guy – the bit when I saved the day! The best bit in the whole entire – oh forget it.**

Vivian looked at his fellow guard with harsh narrowed eyes, feeling annoyance buzz through his mind like some foul insect. He could feel his long teeth grinding together, his eyebrows quivering in a deep frown and his nails cutting into his palms as he clenched his fists. Vivian was a massive, muscular man with a very short temper and a voice that made mountains tremble and his patience was almost up.

"I just don't know where it went wrong," sighed Ernie, the smaller of the two guards, who was known for his love of heroism, fighting and eating sushi.

Vivian's eye gave a threatening spasm. "It's called cross-stitch," he growled, his bear-like voice matching his bear-like figure. "How do you _think _you do it?"

Ernie leant back against the door, oblivious to his friend's extreme emotions. He crossed his arms and looked at his sewing thoughtfully. "I get that," he muttered, his voice more of a whine than anything else. "But I really messed up on Tigger. Check it out."

He showed Vivian his handiwork and looked at him expectantly.

"Well? Where did I go wrong?"

This was enough for Vivian, who let out a great roar and threw the material to the ground, disgusted by the mere sight of it. "Cross-_stitch_, Ernie!" he yelled. "Stitch! We've been through this! If you were meant to use _knitting _needles than the instructions would say so!"

Ernie flushed a deep purple and dropped his eyes, slightly ashamed and completely ready to go into a sulk if the occasion called for it. "Well I did try," he muttered. "There's no need to be so snappy."

Vivian's wide, angry eyes turned towards his friend again. "Sometimes," he said, his voice tense and knowing, "even _my _best isn't good enough. Yours doesn't stand a chance."

Ernie decided to sulk, and felt his bottom lip quiver. "You know buddy," he said, "you could try to be a _little _supportive now and then. We've known each other – what twelve years?"

"Thirteen," Vivian said quietly, beginning to feel his anger simmer down. Ever since the two had met at Guard camp, Vivian had been annoyed by Ernie's constant failures. Ernie came last in every test, Ernie was scared of the dark and, worst of all, Ernie was out of time in the Kuzco dance that the guards performed every morning. Vivian thought to himself a little bit, perhaps he _was _being too harsh on his friend.

"Well thirteen then," Ernie continued. "But you never _appreciate _me, Viv! Like last night – didn't I make a _mean _Earl Grey last night?"

Vivian sighed. "It _did _tantalise my taste buds," he admitted.

"Yup," Ernie nodded. "Mine too. You could've at least said thank you."  
Vivian looked up in shock. "I – I didn't say thank you?"

Ernie shook his head, delighted by the guilt that he was hearing in Vivian's voice. "Nope."

"Oh," said Vivian, beginning to wring his hands in thought. "Well thank you."

Ernie nodded. "Well thanks for saying thank you."

"Thanks for saying 'thanks for saying thank you," replied Vivian.

"Thanks for-"

"Let's not go down this road," snapped Vivian.

"Yeah," said Ernie, "good idea." The smaller guard paused and tilted his head, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Can you hear something?" he whispered.

Vivian was shocked by this sudden change, and also tilted his ear to the sky, trying desperately to catch a hint of what his friend had heard. It didn't take long. Behind the sounds of the crickets, the rush of the wind and Ernie's steady breathing was a strange noise that seemed to be getting louder. Vivian wasn't sure if it was the sound of choking, laughing, retching or coughing but soon identified the source as a blue shape, flying through the air and landing with a neat crash not far away, right next to a large peasant with a cart.

"Hey it's Pacha!" grinned Ernie. "And that blue thing – what _is _that blue thing? Shall we go and see?"

Vivian said nothing, but swept his eyes over the scene, taking as much in as possible.

"That thing was laughing," said Ernie. "Or dying – either way it didn't sound pretty. What do you think it is? Shall we go and see it, Viv? Shall we?"

Ernie's face was filled with eagerness and he was prancing up and down on the spot like a small child. Vivian looked at him with disdain.

"What did you learn from Guard camp?" he asked coldly.

"Erm," Ernie began slowly. "How to balance a spoon on my nose?"

"No," sighed Vivian. "The other thing. The thing about situations of the life or death variety."

"Oh!" Ernie began, thinking as hard as he could. "That one about-"

"Ernie," he said slowly. "We never do anything until the situation is one of life or death! Does this look like a life or death situation to you?"

Ernie blushed again. He had always possessed this unfortunate condition, although his mother told him that it made him look 'cute'. Ernie seriously doubted that he looked cute at all; in fact he knew he looked stupid.

"No," he said sadly, "We've got to wait until the emperor's just about to die and then we step in and save the day-"

"Like," Vivian grinned, giving his friend a helpful nudge in the ribs.

"Like the jaguar, the jungle's number one killer," Ernie recited, rolling his eyes. "Although _actually _falling trees are-"

"The jungle's number _one _killer," Vivian snapped.

"Hmm," said Ernie, looking ahead.

"So what do we do?" Vivian asked, willing to patronise his friend as much as possible.

"Nothing," grunted Ernie.

"Good," smiled Vivian, clapping his hands. The mere memory of Guard camp was enough to cheer him up to great extents. Now he was positively cheerful. "Hey," he said, "that blue thing's a_ person_!"

"Is it? I'm rather short sighted. I would get glasses but they bring out the bags under my eyes."

"Yeah!" Vivian replied, in a voice almost too enthusiastic for him. "It's that old guy! You know, the one who threw off the Emperor's groove a few weeks back?"

Ernie smiled. "Yes," he said, "it _is _isn't it! Well shall we go and-"

"Don't even suggest it," Vivian said, holding up one of his thick purple fingers. "Guard camp," he said. "Remember what they told you at guard camp!"

"I-" Ernie's speech stumbled. "I – I think – wasn't it that-"

"Like a river," Vivian declared proudly, "everything has a cause. If you dam up a river without being ordered to, flooding and disaster may result. Remember that."

"So don't help unless ordered too," muttered Ernie.

"Exactly," Vivian smiled.

At first Pacha had believed the frail old man to be some kind of bird. Then he realised that birds just don't laugh insanely and shout out things about swords, well not the birds he had come across anyway. When he realised that this guy was not just a person, but a person who had been thrown out of a window, his eyes widened.

The little old man in blue fell neatly onto the path and performed a remarkably agile somersault. His wrinkled face was one of disappointment, and the hand that clasped his stick was shaking badly. Pacha swallowed when he realised that he _recognised _this guy. That just made things worse, and the peasant's brain began to fill with horrible ideas that the emperor was back to his old self again, the old self that enjoyed having people thrown out of windows. Had that journey been for nothing? Had the good in Kuzco gone out so quickly? Pacha didn't enjoy thinking this way, but the doubt inside him was just too big.

"Hello," said the old man, "I recognise you. Have we met?"

"I – err – yeah – but," Pacha bit his lip and tried desperately to construct a sentence. "Sorry," he said. "Were you just thrown out of the window?"

The old man nodded.

"Did Emperor Kuzco order this to happen?"

The old man nodded again.

"Did you throw off his groove again?"

The old man promptly burst into laughter, his toothless mouth held open in a huge grin. Pacha warily took a few steps backwards, wondering if this guy had banged his head in the fall.

"Groove?" cried the old man. "Groove? Oh no! Not the Groove! I never throw off the Emperor's groove – ever! I fear the groove – the groove is bad!" With this the man thrust a trembling hand into his clothing. "Groove should go! Beware of the groove! I only tried to stop the groove!"

"Poor guy," Pacha muttered to Misty the llama, who let out a squeal. Pacha, shocked by her reaction, spun around to see the old man brandishing a huge sword that was cut through by a white reflection of light.

"I have a sword!" giggled the old man. "Shiny sword! Kuzco didn't like the sword. He had me thrown out of the window! Sword more powerful than groove, sword beats groove any day! Sword kicks grooves butt!"

"Ok," Pacha said slowly, backing away from the old man as quickly as he could. "So you – you tried to _kill _the emperor?"

The old man nodded. "Nice kitty paid me," he said. "But I failed! What will kitty think? Kitty will be upset!"

Pacha noticed the disturbing tears that were beginning to form in pearls around the old man's eyes. Inside the peasant compassion and panic wrestled for control, and even Pacha was unsure about which one would win.

"Erm," he began, his wide eyes fixed on the gigantic sword. "Do you realise that killing the emperor is – well it's _illegal_?"

The old man laughed. "Of course," he said. "But I'm a rebel! I can't help it! Stupid emperor never saw it coming! He never thought that I would! But kitty will be so _cross_!" His face suddenly winced in terror. "She can't find me," he muttered. "I've got to get away! I'll never come back here again! Don't tell her you saw me!"

The man in blue swung the sword back into his robes and looked over each of his curved shoulders. Pacha was left speechless as he quickly hobbled away and was soon lost in the jungle. The peasant didn't even think about following him. This probably had something to do with the fact that the guy had a sword, and Pacha certainly wanted to survive long enough to actually see Kuzco again. The peasant sighed, turned back to his cart and walked the rest of the way to the palace, as if dealing with elderly sword-fighters was a normal part of his everyday life.

**Kuzco: Ok, so by now we've established that the world picks on me. You see that old guy – that 'sweet' old guy who wouldn't hurt a fly? Well now you see he has a sword, and that can't be good, right? Why he didn't get the hint the first time he was thrown out of the window I'll never know but – what? What are you doing here?**

**Kronk: I, er, I went through a trap door and – hey can they here this?  
Kuzco: Get out! This is my story, not yours!**

**Kronk: But I, er, I don't know _how_ to get out. He-hello everyone out there, hi mum, hi Pete-**

**Kuzco: _Pete_?**

**Kronk: My tailor. He does wonders with fabric that no one can describe.**

**Kuzco: Ok. Let's move on.**


End file.
